We Ain't Done Dancin'
by TooOftenObsessed
Summary: Jewel walks the Doc home after the S2 finale. [Doc/Jewel, m/f, lemon, possible two-shot. Some h/c, some fluff.] Rated M for sexual content and profanity. Please r&r.


"Can I walk ya back to your place?" He was taken aback by her offer.

"I don't want you walking more than you have to." His concern for her mobility had long since faded, as she'd showed no sign of discomfort or weakness, but didn't want to tax her frail body any further.

"I like walkin' more than I used to."

"Well then," he offered his arm to her for stability, and she grinned as she took it, dimples flashing in the lamplight. They walked quietly along the thoroughfare, leaving the fading music and few remaining dancers behind, and he carefully measured each step she took. A small amount of pride eased its way into his heart; knowing for a fact that he had really, truly helped someone was a rare enough occurrence that he knew he had to take that pride where he could. They reached his door, and he turned to her, preparing to say goodnight.

"Can't I come in?" Her voice was strong, and entitled, and laced with nerves.

"W- why?" He stammered. What had she been keeping from him? She shrugged, her arms thrown wide.

"Maybe ya oughta look at my brace." His brows furrowed, he immediately began asking her about her leg, stiffness or pain, and was internally kicking himself for his arrogance just a moment before. Ushering her inside by the arm, he steered her to a seated position and knelt in front of her in one fluid motion. As he reached to pull up her skirt an examine her leg, she stopped him.

"Doc." He looked up sharply. "Quit bein' such a doc. I was jes' makin' up an excuse." He stood, walked across the room, and plopped heavily into a low chair. He leaned back, sighed with his hand over his eyes, then sat forward angrily.

"You can't do that shit, Jewel. Can't make up shit like that for no reason." She smiled with petulant glee.

"Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all. He leaned back again, allowing him pulse to slow. He heard her stand and begin shuffling around the cabin, and somehow didn't care about the violation of his privacy as she began to poke through his things. The soft tinkle of glass bottles was a soothing sound after the noise of the party. Her clumsy fingers explored his desk, then his bookshelf, then the small table next to the bed. She squealed with delight, causing him to jump, and when he turned to look behind him, he saw her wheeling around clutching a hairbrush. He rolled his eyes, embarrassment flooding his cheeks with a hot blush. Her laughter wasn't mean, but still stung.

"I knew there had to be some secret to that girly mop of yours!" He stood to take the brush from her, but she held it with what little strength she could. "Can I use it? I never get to brush my hair. The whores get first pickin's on groomin' gear." He mumbled for her to go ahead, and she chose to occupy the chair he'd just vacated, her back to him. She set the brush on the desk, then fumbled at the tip of her braid, struggling to pull loose the tight binding there. After only a few moments of watching her clumsy work, he pulled the braid loose himself. Taking the brush from the desk, he began working gently, yet insistently, at the tangles that had long embedded themselves in her gnarled brown hair.

He began with a clinical detachment, seeking only to ease whatever discomfort that the task might have caused her, but as he made progress toward her scalp, she gave voice to an almost unconscious sigh.

"Oh Doc, that's wonderful." He did not falter, but was thankful that she could not see him. Her words, though they betrayed nothing beyond contentment, were close enough to something else that he felt a wave of heat rush over him, gooseflesh puckering his shoulders and chest, culminating in tightening the skin of his lower belly. The feel of her hair, now silken from his attentions, became sensuous and haunting. He breathed in deeply through his nose, and caught a light scent of cooking spices, caught in her braid after years of kitchen duty.

The tangles were now gone, but he was reluctant to relinquish his contact with her. He exchanged the brush for the rawhide loop he'd taken from her hair, and began a sad attempt at forming a new braid. His work was loose and awkward, and when he'd finished, he couldn't help laughing at himself. She felt the braid with her own hands, and laughed herself when even that delicate touch disrupted the formation almost entirely. She turned to face him, and he felt awkward at the momentary silence.

"Would ya like to look at my leg anways? It doesn't hurt or nothin', but I'd like ya to check it all the same." She turned in the chair, her leg held out stiffly, and he hesitated. How could he examine a woman whose hair he'd just been admiring in a very unprofessional manner? A quick struggle allowed him to regain his internal composure, so he knelt before her and raised her skirt. Everything looked fine, but he wanted to be sure.

"I'm going to take the brace off, just temporarily, to examine your leg for irritation." She nodded, and he began carefully loosening the bindings that held the brace to her leg. Setting the brace aside, he ran his fingers along the faint red indentations it left behind, feeling for heat or swelling. When nothing revealed itself on the lower leg, he moved his attentions to her thigh, which caused an unsettling lapse in concentration as he felt her smooth skin. All pretense of clinical detachment faded, and that almost unfamiliar heat swept nearly swept him up entirely.

With a jolt of horror, he realized he was actually feeling up a patient. She'd trusted him with her well-being, revealed herself to him in very private ways, as all patients must do, and he was now violating that trust with his selfish lust for her body. He stood up, stepped away, and turned his back to her. "Just a minute, Jewel," and he poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher at his bedside. Forcing himself to call up images that might quell his other unwelcome thoughts, he had visions of all the maimed young men he'd seen, the women dead in childbirth, the Reverend Smith's contortions, and felt a cold rush of sorrow. He turned back to Jewel, and rapidly probed the remainder of her leg. As opened his mouth to ask if there was any pain, any at all, her small, twisted hand slipped over his own, holding it against her knee.

"Doc." Softly. "I already said quit bein' such a doc." She ran her hand along his forearm, leaving him staring transfixed up at her. Her newly brushed hair hung messily around her shoulders, and she held his gaze with confidence, and perhaps a hint of something else. Her fingers slipped up and down his arm, and in spite of all of his efforts, his fingers caressed her knee, feeling the warmth of her as something other than normal body temperature, something real and profound and important.

"I - I can't take advantage." But he knew he could. She threw her head back and laughed merrily, hands going to her face. She gazed down at him with a smile so bright that it burned away any trace of his manufactured melancholy.

"I think ya know ya wouldn't be takin' advantage." She placed a hand on his cheek and guided his face up next to hers. "Oh Doc, ya can be so fuckin' dumb sometimes." Knowing suddenly that he'd been manipulated into this situation, and not caring that he'd walked into her trap, he hesitated, feeling the tension between them as a physical presence. Acutely aware of his hand on her knee, he gently, oh so gently, pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was clumsy, but left him breathless. He took a moment to process the forgotten sensations that were sweeping over him, and her patience broke. Both arms thrust around his shoulders and he was forced against her with a strength that was surprising to both of them. Her name slipped from his lips as they found hers, and he stood, pressing his knee into the warmth between her legs and freeing his hands to undo the buttons at the neckline of her dress.

He kissed a blazing trail down her neck, and she moaned a plea. Looking down, he saw she was tugging at the buttons of his shirt, and he assisted her quickly in the task. He resumed his progress at her dress, as she slipped her hands inside his shirt and around his back. He paused before revealing her breasts, looking at her with an unspoken question shining in his feverish eyes. "Oh fuck, Doc, please." He slid the dress off her shoulders, revealing small, firm breasts. He cupped one, tracing his thumb along the edge of her nipple, causing her to emit a soft, keening cry. Pulling on her arms, he stood her next to him. They were almost of a height, and as he bent to her breasts, she clawed her hands through his hair before tearing his shirt from his back and pressing his bare chest against hers.

He made a conscious effort to slow their frantic pace, reveling in the intimate contact of skin against skin. He pressed his lips into her hair, holding her against him, and let out a yelp when she bit his chest. She turned and limped over to the bed, once again dragging her leg without the help of the brace. He felt a pang of sadness that dissipated when she sat on the bed, wantonly pulling her skirt up over her knees. The sight of her confidence made him glad for whatever hardship had made her the powerful woman she had become.

Naked from the waist up, glasses sliding down on his nose, he laid her back on the bed, hovering over her in a position that made him feel strong, possessive, and profoundly nervous. He traced his hand slowly and deliberately up her thigh, the weak leg slightly twisted but no less beautiful than the other. He teased, staying well low of the place she was begging him for. She grabbed his hand and forced it upward, and the sudden contact with her damp, warm curls made him press against her, "oh honey" rose unbidden to his lips, and she smiled, dazzling him.

He knew he was at risk of disappointing her. Unlike many other men, he knew the fact of women's sexual capabilities - hadn't he treated enough whores in his time to know? - and couldn't bear the thought of leaving her wanting. He slipped a finger inside of her, relishing the silky feel, then slid in another.

"Come on, Doc, just fuck me, will ya?" He looked at her gravely.

"No. Not yet. It's been too long for me. I won't last. Besides, I know a trick or two you might enjoy." Her face scrunched in confusion, then smoothed into bliss as he pressed slowly and gently against that special, secret spot. For once, his anatomical knowledge had purpose beyond the crucial, critical, lifesaving application it previously held. He smoothed his free hand along her belly, providing counter-pressure to the work he was doing inside. Her good leg drew up, the knee rising and dropping her skirt until he was in full view of her. Her own hands held her breasts, thumbs tweaking the nipples until they peaked. The sight of her almost drove him past the edge then, and he had to use all of his considerable will to keep from disappointing them both.

As he increased his pressure and his speed, Jewel became more and more vocal, her cries of his name ringing in his ears. At least, he felt her begin to tremble and couldn't restrain himself. "Oh yes, come on Jewel, that's my girl, that's my girl, that's my Jewel." He saw her eyes open in surprise, and they fixed on his with a species of shocked gratitude which told him that, while Jewel had known that sex was good, she hadn't known just _how_ good it could be. Her gaze held his as she came, and when she'd stilled, he lay beside her, holding her as her breathing calmed.

"Well, Doc, that was somethin' else." He kissed her. She rolled to her side kissed him back, her tongue slipping across his lips and eliciting a moan from him, his own need nearly painful. "But I'm still feeling like I'm missing something." She pried loose the button on his trousers, purposely brushing against him with the backs of her hands as she did.

"Watch it, honey, or we won't be here long." She looked at him, an impish smile dancing at the corners of her lips. She paused in her movements, meeting his eyes with an uncharacteristic solemnity.

"I like you, Doc. I think ya know that." She kissed him softly, then, leaning her body into his. He could feel her small, firm breasts pressed against his chest and he pulled her tighter to him. He kissed across her jawline and held his lips right against her earlobe.

"I kinda like you, too, darlin'," he whispered. Her peals of merry laughter made him smile, but they were cut short by a gasp as he bit down on the hollow of her neck beneath her ear. He grasped the fabric of her dress, bunched at the waist, and yanked it down past her slim hips. She kicked the dress away willingly, pawing at his back and running her lips across his chest.

He rolled back from her embrace, smiling at her soft cry of disappointment as their contact was broken. He quickly removed his trousers, feeling his skin pucker at the cool night air. After tossing his specs on the bedside table, he turned back to Jewel, making her lie flat on the bed as he ran a hand along her inner thigh. Positioning himself, he froze, suddenly fearful of the line he was about to cross.

Jewel placed a hand on the side of his face, meeting his eyes and frowning. "Doc," she purred. "It ain't polite to keep a lady waiting." She raised her hips and he felt her liquid heat brush against him, and he reacted on instinct, thrusting himself deep inside her with a groan. He froze again, raising his eyes to meet hers, fearful of the pain he might see there. Instead, there was a seriousness that was unlike the laughter that normally dwelt in her eyes. "You're different, Doc." Trying to ignore the desire to thrust, he lifted a hand and touched her cheek.

"How so, darlin'?"

"You're the first person who loved me while you were doin' it." She raised her hips slightly as she said it, drawing her knees up to brace against the mattress. The increased pressure forced him back, and he thrust into her again, setting a pace so frantic as to be almost violent. Her words echoed through his mind, cycling around and around, creating a torrent of emotion that built alongside his pleasure. She held him close, breathing into his ear, her hands clutching his back and to his surprise she started to clumsily thrust to meet him. He kissed her throat and twined his hand in her loose hair. She became more vocal as he did so, he hoped against hope he could hold on.

He couldn't. He words and cries drove him past the point of no return, and she shouted in surprise as he spent himself inside her. He collapsed next to her, and she clumsily draped a leg around his waist curling up against him despite the sheen of sweat that covered his body.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, once he got his breath back. He felt her head jerk against his shoulder, turning toward his.

"What fer?"

"For… God damn it Jewel." She put her head back down and squeezed his shoulder.

"Never say sorry for that, Doc. Never." She yawned, and resettled herself against him, seeming content to stay there. He disentangled himself and stumbled over to the basin, wetting a cloth and wiping his brow. He carried the cloth over to the bed, and handed it to Jewel, who seemed to know what he intended. He sat on the edge of the bed, half-blind without his glasses, and wondered at what had happened.

She tossed the cloth aside and turned toward him, placing a hand on his back, making him jump. The night was rapidly cooling, and the sweat drying on his skin was making him shiver.

"Where'd'ja go, Doc? I'm cold." He pulled the blanket up from where it was bunched at the base of the bed, laying it over her bare skin and marveling at how unselfconscious she could be. "Come here." She said it with such authority that he had to comply, sliding beneath the blanket and lying next to her stiffly. She resumed her position with her head against his shoulder, holding him with a unique kind of awkward grace. He turned his thoughts to what she'd said.

"Jewel, did anyone ever… hurt you?" She was quiet a minute.

"Sure they did. But nobody since Al took me in." Doc thought he could forgive Al anything for that.

"Did… did I hurt you?" She started to giggle, then he screwed his eyes shut as she started laughing loudly. When she realized he was turned away, she quieted her laughter, and still chuckling, turned his face to her.

"How could you? You're my Doc." And then she kissed him, and the weight of her words brought tears to his eyes, and he slid his arms around her, holding her tightly to his chest, and feeling her trapped safely in his grasp made him want to never let her go again. "It's okay, Doc. It's okay. It's all okay." She whispered this to him, and eventually his muscles relaxed, and he felt exhaustion crash all around him. He wanted to tell her she should leave, tell her he was sorry, tell her how beautiful she was, but instead, he slept.


End file.
